


Talkin ‘Bout A Revolution

by saiditallbefore



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Padme isn’t here but she’s here in spirit, Pre-Rebellion Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 00:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16733445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/pseuds/saiditallbefore
Summary: Ellé and Moteé, in the years after Padmé’s death.





	Talkin ‘Bout A Revolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skatzaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/gifts).



Ellé holds Moteé’s hand tightly as the procession nears. They are surrounded by Sabé, Dormé, Eirtaé, Miré, and all of the others. There is an empty spot where Cordé would have stood.

The casket passes them. Moteé’s nails cut into Ellé’s hand, and Ellé bites her lip. This is not Padmé.

Oh, it is her body, surely enough. But it has none of her life, her essence. Even asleep, Padmé never looked like that.

It hits Ellé then, for the first time: it’s over.

For the past decade, Padmé has been the star around which they have all revolved. They have been her councillors, her confidants, her bodyguards, her spies, her diplomats, her soldiers. They have lived and breathed and fought together. 

The former handmaidens gather together after the funeral procession. Eirtaé has a home in Theed, still, and though it is a tight squeeze to get all of them into her sitting room, it would feel wrong to separate at this juncture.

They sit in near-silence for a quarter of an hour before Miré finally speaks.

“Senator Binks has offered me a position,” she says, fidgeting with her cup of tea. “But with everything that happened on Coruscant—”

It was as though a dam had burst, and secrets and suspicions all came pouring out. They couldn’t agree on exactly what had happened, but they all knew this: the Chancellor had declared himself Emperor and the Jedi— including Padmé’s Anakin— were gone.

“Senator Amidala was against granting the Chancellor any more power,” Moteé observed.

Ellé gave her a sharp look. “You don’t think—”

Moteé shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. But anyone who returns to Coruscant may be taking their chances.”

Silence, for a long moment. Then, Ellé raised her cup. “To Naboo.”

“To Naboo,” the others echoed.

* * *

They do not see any of the others for eight years. Ellé and Moteé both work as aides in the Nabooian senate, but it is hard to remain hopeful when the Emperor keeps passing sanctions against their planet. 

Moteé has often wondered if he is trying to make the galaxy forget where he came from. Ellé wonders if his reasons are more sinister.

And then— a message, from Sabé. _Meet me at her memorial. Tomorrow. Dusk._

There is no question of who the “her” in the message refers to.

This is familiar: Moteé and Ellé wear hooded cloaks, and slip down darkened streets with their hands on their weapons, hoping that the meeting is not a trap. 

Padmé’s memorial is large and gaudy. She would have hated it. There is a small, private grave somewhere, but that is on her family’s land. This is for the public.

It’s an absurd thought, that Ellé and Moteé and Sabé and the others could have been considered part of Padmé’s public sphere, when they knew more of her secrets than anyone else. But Ellé is saved from dwelling on this when a figure in a hooded cloak melts out of the shadows and joins them.

The other figure throws her hood back, and Ellé and Moteé embrace her like a long-lost sister. No one has seen Sabé in years. She looks tired, like something is weighing her down. 

“Where have you been?” Moteé demands, keeping her voice low.

“I took a job on Alderaan,” Sabé says. “As a guard.” That explains the other differences in her appearance: the cut of her clothes and her braided hair didn’t seem like something Sabé would have chosen, but they would blend in on Alderaan.

It takes a few minutes for Moteé and Ellé to catch her up on their own lives, unexciting as they’ve been for the past few years.

“What brings you to Naboo?” Ellé finally asks.

Sabé hesitates for just a fraction of a second. “What do you think of the Emperor?”

Ellé meets Moteé’s eyes. _Do we trust her?_ After all these years together, they hardly need words to communicate.

Moteé summons up something resembling diplomacy. “The Emperor has done little good for Naboo or its people that I have seen.” She speaks in a calm and even tone, when Ellé simply wants to scream about the injustice he has perpetuated, about how he is slowly poisoning the galaxy, about how this is not at all what they worked for.

But it seems Sabé can read between the lines as well as ever. “There is a— a movement,” she begins. “To bring democracy back to the galaxy. To make it a true Republic again.”

“You’re talking about a revolution,” Ellé whispers.

Sabé bites her lip, a childhood habit she was never able to get rid of. “Eventually.”

Moteé and Ellé trade glances again. “What do you need?” Ellé asks.

* * *

Coruscant— no, the Imperial Center, now— has only gotten worse over the years. It had always been loud and polluted and overcrowded, but now the image of the Emperor is plastered everywhere, and his troops were on every corner. It is hard to shake the feeling of being watched. 

The Senate is the worst. The Moffs and Grand Moffs swan in and out without any rhyme or reason, and alliances between systems are forged and broken every day as the senators scramble ineffectively to find some measure of protection against the Emperor.

Moteé and Ellé are not directly involved in the politics, of course. They are only aides. Moteé currently works for a Gatalentan senator, while Ellé is employed by one of Naboo’s senators. Neither of their employers know why they are really here, and they break their signed confidentiality agreements nightly when they sit across the dinner table and share eavesdropped information that might be worth passing along.

Spying is tedious work. This is a lesson Ellé learned during the Clone Wars, but somehow she’s managed to forget it in the intervening years. It’s easy to forget the tedium and remember only the exciting bits.

Worst of all, there are no exciting bits here. No sneaking down to the lower levels of Coruscant and lurking in dingy bars, no surprise shootouts or space battles to be found. Nothing but corruption and administrative tedium.

Some days, Ellé looks across the Senate chamber and wonders why they even bother. There are fewer planets represented here than there were in the days of the Republic, but the arguments are just as petty, just as pointless.

And then she looks at Moteé— her friend, her lover, her companion through these dark years— and she remembers why they fight. Why they will _always_ fight.


End file.
